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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25894447">Let it happen (It's gonna feel so good)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agf/pseuds/Agf'>Agf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cock &amp; Ball Torture, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Kink Exploration, M/M, Masturbation, Ryan: hit him in the balls until a feeling falls out, This was supposed to be a PWP, but then I accidentally wrote about how Shane is frightened of vulnerability</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:33:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25894447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agf/pseuds/Agf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><span></span><em> "It's a sex thing, a fetish. There's no need to dig deeper than that.” Shane looks up as he insists, “there's nothing underneath. Except, maybe, the human condition, crossed wires, that stuff." </em><br/>
</p>
  <p>
    <em>"Emotions," Ryan guesses.  </em><br/>
</p>
  <p>
<em>"What about 'hit me in the cock' is screaming emotions at you, Ryan?" </em><br/>
</p>
  <p><em>Ryan thinks,</em> the fact that you could never say that, <em>but wisely keeps silent.</em></p>
</blockquote>In which an accidental browser sync leads Ryan to a discovery in Shane's bookmarks, which in turn leads to… other things.<p>Or: Shane gets CBT. No - the other kind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>195</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let it happen (It's gonna feel so good)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from the Tame Impala song</p><p>With all my thanks to Aly for dissecting kink with me, and to the rest of the discord for their encouragement. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryan’s hard drive sputters, whines, and gives up the ghost on a Wednesday evening before a deadline. It takes all of the video files he was working on with it. </p><p>“Oh fucking - <em> come on</em>,” he hisses at it - half threat, half plea. Jamming the cable in and out of the sockets doesn’t help. Neither does forcing his laptop to reboot while he mainlines lukewarm coffee and swears at it. YouTube offers some useful sounding tutorials, but after the third guy produces a screwdriver as a ‘necessary tool’, Ryan decides he’s too overcaffeinated and underqualified to prod around inside something electronic with a metal stick. So he calls Shane. </p><p>“Hey, Ry!” Shane answers, sounding more than a little drunk. It’s one of his old college friend’s birthdays, which is why Ryan is alone in the apartment, supposedly getting <em> so much work </em> done in Shane’s absence. “You okay?”</p><p>“You sound like you’re having a good time,” Ryan replies fondly, squashing the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reboots his laptop again. “Having fun?”</p><p>“Mmm. Karaoke. I’ll get someone to send me the video.” </p><p>“I don’t think I need to see the video.” </p><p>“Au contraire.” Shane pulls the second syllable out long, cont-<em>raaaaire. </em>“Everyone should get a chance to appreciate art.” </p><p>Ryan snorts. “Sure. Hey - do you have the video files from the last batch of Are You Scared on your Google Drive?”</p><p>“N- ugh. I think so. Why?”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Ryan says. He considers the lilt of Shane’s voice, the likelihood of him being able to set up a shared copy of all the files he needs right now, and decides to take the easier route. “Can I get your password?” </p><p>There’s a small pause where Shane clearly weighs up the benefits of demanding further information, before he sighs. “Sure. It’s Obi with a zero. Shane with an at-sign. 1, 3, 4.” </p><p>Ryan’s too stressed to even rib on Shane for having such an old man password. He punches it all in and hits ‘yes’ on every dialogue box that pops up, desperate to get to the files. When he finds them all there, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says. “Crisis averted.”</p><p>“Madej saves the day again,” Shane says in his old-timey radio broadcaster voice. “You good?”</p><p>“I’m good. Go have fun. Love you.” </p><p>“Mm, you too. See you later, Ry,” Shane says, and Ryan can hear the smile on his face as he rings off the call. </p><p>*****</p><p>That could easily have been the end of it, but Ryan is, by nature, a curious guy. </p><p>He edits for a solid couple of hours, focused on nothing but the video files. He always gets a bit like this - Shane says he puts his blinkers on when he’s working - and frankly Obi could have destroyed his sneaker collection and he wouldn’t have noticed. </p><p>By the time he sits back to watch a rudimentary first run-through, it’s dark outside. The video is still very much <em> not ready</em>, but Ryan’s at least done his part. Namely - cut out the inane chatter at the start and end, gotten rid of the parts in the middle where they were distracted by a phone ringing or a parcel delivery, left in only the good takes. Now it’s up to the actual editors and illustrators to work their magic on it. </p><p>Ryan hits the button to open his email and send it off, then startles back when instead loud thunder sounds start coming from his laptop. On screen, a white noise soundboard announces he’s listening to ‘campsite storm 04’. </p><p>It still takes a moment for Ryan to work out what’s happened, which he’ll blame on the post-editing fugue. The cursor hovers over the spot where his email usually sits, but it’s not there. </p><p>In fact… these are not his bookmarks. </p><p>Which means they must be Shane’s. </p><p>Ryan navigates to Twitter immediately and spends two minutes vibrating while he thinks through the possibilities. He settles on a classic; types ‘shane madej funny’ and hits send, then sits back to cackle at the carnage. </p><p>A trawl through the rest of the bookmarks is less outright fun, but certainly enlightening. Shane has a folder entitled ‘for later?’ which contains links to the kind of dry, academic journals Ryan only ever pretended to read even while he was still at college. </p><p>He has no less than three white noise sites bookmarked, including one with the background noise of a coffee shop, even though Ryan knows for a fact that Shane <em> hates </em> working in cafes. </p><p>There’s the usual stuff, too. Social media, a webpage that lists Amazon equivalents, all the streaming sites they have accounts with, and even a folder called ‘Ryan’ that gets him momentarily excited until he finds it's just full of hotel links he must have sent over while they were planning the New Orleans episodes of Unsolved. </p><p>Ryan is vaguely planning the response to Shane’s tweet he wants to send out before he falls asleep, clicking through the last few folders more out of a desire to have seen it all than any real interest, when he stumbles on folder ‘www6gt’. It feels too constructed to be a legitimate key smash, he thinks. </p><p>Inside the folder are three more. Two are empty. One, titled ‘comp backup’, is decidedly <em> not</em>. </p><p>“Holy shit,” Ryan breathes, skimming through the link titles. It’s porn. It’s all porn- Ryan recognises the sites, the little icons. There aren’t a huge amount of them - about fifteen links in total, which makes him think that this is either Shane’s <em> favourites </em> selection, or his guilty pleasures. </p><p>Ryan suddenly feels like Shane must be able to see him, somehow, and glances around the apartment. It’s obviously empty. On screen, the mouse is hovering over a link titled ‘Noah and Ian try mean slapping’. </p><p>He should put this down, Ryan thinks. There’s no way that anything good comes out of snooping like this. </p><p>Then again, he’s never met a mystery he doesn’t want to unpick, and since Shane is the most interesting and layered of them all it would be madness to pass up on such a vital clue.</p><p>Slowly, he stands up from the chair and moves the five short strides to the bedroom. Once inside, he slams the door and leans back against it like he’s run a sprint, laptop cradled against his chest. </p><p>“This is a bad idea,” Ryan says aloud, just to see if hearing himself confirm it shakes the uncontrollable urge to kick the hornet’s nest. </p><p>It doesn’t. </p><p>Like he's in a trance, Ryan settles back against the headboard and positions the laptop on his thighs. The cursor is still hovering over the mystery links. He navigates back to ‘mean slapping’ and clicks. Then he lets out a long breath. </p><p>The video starts with two handsome men sitting naked on a bench. They’re talking to the camera, introducing themselves, and Ryan clicks forwards until they’re making out on a bed. </p><p>He’s pretty sure he knows where this is going. One of the guys - this is why he should have listened to them introduce themselves - pushes the other down flat on the sheets, and Ryan’s bracing for this to take a turn for the kinky. A bit of face slapping, some name calling… He’s seen his fair share of these - by now he can spot a cliche ‘call me sir’ coming from a mile away. </p><p>Then the guy on top brings his hand down on the other’s dick. </p><p>The sound of it - the muted slap - is <em> nothing </em> against the groan that rips from the poor guy whose nuts just got a beating. </p><p>Ryan’s so shocked he doesn’t react at all. Doesn’t move to turn it off, doesn’t make a sound. He just sits with his mouth slightly open, and his eyes wide, and watches. </p><p>He watches as the top pushes the other man’s hands down against the sheets and says, <em>“leave them there or I’ll hit you harder,"</em> then slaps him between the legs again and again, jerking himself at the sharp, pained sound he gets. </p><p>Through it all the guy on the bottom stays rock hard, like he’s just loving this, living for the chance to get his balls bruised. </p><p>Every time he gets hit, he pushes his hips right back up again. Ryan can’t help but run the word ‘eager’ through his mind over and over like a toffee he can’t swallow, clogging up his brain. His fingers twitch against his thigh, suddenly restless. </p><p>Then he remembers where he is. Wait - <em> Shane </em> likes this stuff?</p><p>Ryan fumbles with the laptop and finally manages to hit pause.</p><p>His heart is <em> racing.  </em></p><p>He's not into it. </p><p>He’s not. It's just unexpected. It’s the unexpectedness of it all that’s making him feel so… so off-kilter. Plus he's keyed up from the adrenaline of his drive crashing earlier and all these new discoveries - so there’s a lot going on. Brains can get confused about this kind of thing, and translate adrenaline into horniness without your knowledge. </p><p>Ryan’s pretty sure Shane told him that once, which means that there must be, you know, at least some vague science behind it. </p><p><em> That’s all it is</em>, Ryan thinks, <em> weird brain stuff</em>. He hits play. </p><p>The video picks back up with the sound of a startled yelp as a slap grazes balls, and Ryan’s own dick presses insistently against the front of his shorts. He looks down at his lap with a frown, but clearly his boner wasn’t listening to his first-rate reasoning. </p><p>“This is new for us,” he informs his lap, and tries not to feel betrayed by the peppy response he imagines he’s getting. </p><p>They’re talking again in the video now, and he lifts his eyes back to the screen. “<em>Do you think you can take any more? Look at you, so desperate for it.”  </em></p><p>
  <em> “I can take it.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Let’s see about that.” </em>
</p><p>Ryan wants to maintain a cool, detached outlook, to be able to sigh at the cheesy dialogue, but instead he just chews on his cheek as the last of the blood powering his brain rushes south.</p><p>And it’s- whatever. At the base of it, this is just two hot, naked guys making each other come, Ryan thinks. And he’s had a long, weird evening, and it’s not weird that watching this is making him hard. </p><p>He presses the heel of his hand against the bulge of his shorts and grunts, glancing at the door. It’s still shut, obviously, because Shane isn't here. It's just Ryan, and this cave of his bad decisions, and his traitorous boner.</p><p>He presses his hips up against his hand and sighs.  Ryan watches the guy on the bottom lift his chin and say <em>“more"</em>. Watches him get a harder slap for it, curling in on himself and gasping. Watches the top guy jerk him nice and slow in reward and then show off his wet hand to the camera. </p><p>“Oh, goddammit,” Ryan says aloud. He shoves his shorts halfway down his thighs and gets a hand around himself, gripping just a little too tight in his haste. It should be too dry, but that’s not the case at all once he’s swept his fingers over the head, and the first full stroke is so good it makes his toes curl. </p><p>Ryan leans back against the headboard and gets the laptop balanced properly so he can still see the screen as he settles into a familiar rhythm. </p><p><em> I wonder if Shane has done this here?</em>  His brain supplies helpfully. <em>T</em><em>his exact video, this exact spot…  </em></p><p>Ryan can’t make himself look away from the screen. Usually when he watches porn he projects himself or a partner onto one of the actors, but tonight that’s proving difficult. His brain throws up helpful images of Shane’s face and body, memories of them in similar positions, Shane above him, the feel of his hand jerking nice and tight, the sound of a laugh… </p><p>But he can’t picture Shane’s face over this. It won’t stick to either role. Shane usually tops, but he’s never done anything Ryan would classify as sadistic. As for the bottom - he has no idea if Shane even has the <em> capacity </em>to whimper<em>.  </em></p><p>He wonders which role Shane pictures himself in. </p><p>The can of worms Ryan should never have opened gives another little joyous wiggle, and he shuts that thought down with a particularly forceful twist of his wrist. </p><p>He forces himself to focus only on the generically attractive porn models. On the sound of skin on skin, the wet slide of his hand, and their hands, and the sight of one man holding the other down to hurt him, giving him what he’s <em> begging </em>for. </p><p>There’s another slap, a pinch, a <em> squeeze, </em> and it’s the helpless moaning that pushes Ryan over the edge. He presses his eyes shut and just listens as he comes, bucking up into his hand, the laptop dislodged somewhere among the sheets. </p><p>He bites down on his own groan, making only a low, strangled sound as he jerks his hand fast and brutal, chasing the rush until he can’t bear it anymore, the clench and unclench of it reaches all the way down to tug in the base of his abdomen.</p><p>When he stills, panting, he hears rather than sees the crescendo of the video, and in his mind’s eye all he can picture is Shane. </p><p>His cock twitches again, oversensitive, and Ryan’s hair stands on end. Which is… interesting. </p><p>His mouth is very dry. </p><p>“Well,” he says to the empty room, “now I know.”</p><p>The room seems to settle around him. It’s probably the most confused post-orgasm silence of his life. That's not an easy title either - Ryan thinks he has some pretty good contenders for the honour. But this - finally opening his eyes to a paused screen showing one man clutching his groin while the other laughs above him - this has to be a contender. </p><p>In fact, Ryan decides as he uses his shirt to wipe himself down and then dumps it on the floor, this whole thing was a bad idea.</p><p>Ryan knows himself. He knows that now he’s seen this there’s no way he can unsee it, and definitely no way he can <em> unlink it </em>from Shane. He’s going to need to get it out in the open, clear the air, talk about it before he can move on. </p><p>Just talk, obviously. There’s no way he’s letting Shane punch the shit out of his cock. </p><p>The anatomy in question twitches again like it wants to hide. <em> Me too buddy, </em>Ryan thinks, hiking his shorts back up and closing the lid of the laptop with a final flick of his wrist.</p><p>*****</p><p>Another hour later and Ryan has watched all the videos and moved straight into guilt town. </p><p>Shane is allowed secret pleasures. Everyone likes weird things sometimes. Ryan remembers the month of his life post-breakup where the only things that could get him off were videos of fake, sexy frat hazings that he’d never admit to watching. </p><p>So if all of Shane’s videos involve someone getting their dick whaled on, well, he’s entitled to that. That’s fine. His curiosity is sated. He can stop thinking any further about it. </p><p>But Shane had saved his selection of these… Had hidden them, in fact. </p><p>How can you spot the difference, Ryan wonders, between a guilty pleasure and a secret shame?</p><p>By the time Shane stumbles in the front door, drunk and laughing, hushing himself, Ryan feels less guilty and more… intrigued. He rolls over when Shane enters the bedroom and squints up at his silhouette with a smile. “Hey,” he whispers, “good night?”</p><p>“Yes! You are - wow. Hi,” Shane says, then ruins the effect by falling half on top of Ryan as he gets into bed, shirt still on, pants somewhere around his knees. “Ugh.” </p><p>“Need help?” Ryan laughs. Shane shushes him and waves a hand near the ceiling, which Ryan assumes means ‘go ahead, quietly’. </p><p>It’s probably just the residual guilt talking, but Ryan feels better once he’s helped Shane get undressed and comfortable. He doesn’t get to do this much - look after Shane, rather than the other way around. Unless he’s drunk, or ill, Shane is of the extremely Midwestern opinion that he should be self-sufficient. </p><p>He rolls Shane further over so he isn’t hanging perilously close to the edge of the mattress and pulls the sheet up over him before he slips back into bed himself, cuddling up behind him. Shane is hot as a furnace now he’s come in from the cold and already out like a light. He doesn’t react when Ryan pushes cold toes against the side of his shin, but he does reach out with one arm when Ryan shifts away to get the light. </p><p>The streetlights are bright outside, and in the diffused shine through their curtains Ryan studies Shane’s sleeping face. He wonders, absently, how much of a secret this particular secret is. Whether this is something he should leave alone entirely, or something he should try and coax into the open with gentle wheedling. </p><p>Ryan’s still curious, is the thing. The itch to learn is still there. So is the itch to spill what he's learnt.</p><p>‘I’ll see how I feel in the morning,’ he tells himself, settling back down against the pillows and closing his eyes, Shane’s hand held loosely in his own. The curiosity has usually faded by then. Maybe he’ll have forgotten all about it.</p><p>*****</p><p>"So is your interest in dick torture purely hypothetical, or have you been waiting for a good moment to bring it up?" Ryan asks Shane over breakfast. </p><p>Shane makes a face like Ryan has said something unexpectedly foul and flaps about with his mouthful of coffee before he manages to swallow it. "What?" He croaks. </p><p>It is, Ryan thinks, a fair reaction, since he hadn't yet made Shane aware of his porn folder discovery, and the man in question is more than a little hungover. </p><p>"Dick torture," he repeats slowly all the same, because he figures the pay off will make it worth the glare that gets him. </p><p>He's right - Shane goes on one of his micro-expression face journeys, eyes widening, mouth open, before he gets a handle on himself and crams those feelings down with all the others. "Yeah I heard you," he says, "I- Ryan, what are you talking about?" </p><p>It’s Ryan’s turn to look shifty, although he powers through for the sake of the conversation he spent all morning silently rehearsing in his head. “You had to give me your drive password last night so I could get the video files I lost,” he says. </p><p>“I remember.” He can see the start of a realisation creeping over Shane’s face. </p><p>“I think I synced everything, not just the drive stuff. Accidentally. I found your bookmarks.” </p><p>“The bookmarks.” </p><p>“Right!” Ryan nods. “The porn ones, specifically. And I was intrigued, so I watched them. Uh, not-accidentally. Which in hindsight I shouldn't have done. So I am sorry about that.” </p><p>“You watched my bookmarked porn.” </p><p>Ryan nods. “Lot of… lot of dick slapping,” he says, awkwardly. </p><p>Shane looks back at his coffee mug like he’s considering the possibility of drowning himself in it. </p><p>Ryan clears his throat. “Look, I didn’t hate it. Once I got over the shock.” </p><p>It’s an understatement, but Ryan feels like he has to keep at least one card to his chest, ready to play if Shane ever manages to speak in words he isn’t borrowing straight from Ryan again. </p><p>Sure enough, when Shane looks up his mouth is twisted into a pained expression and his shoulders are so tight a stiff breeze could knock him over. “The shock,” he repeats. “I didn’t- those weren’t intended to be <em> shared </em> with you.” </p><p>“I know that! That’s not what I meant to say.” Ryan coughs. This isn’t going how he’d planned. “I want to make it clear that, uh, I’m not judging you. I support you, but my balls are not… in the running, for this opportunity.” </p><p>There’s a pregnant pause in which they stare at each other over the counter and Ryan can’t work out where to put his hands.</p><p>“Jesus christ,” Shane says. He inhales a lungful of coffee steam, staring balefully at the wall behind Ryan’s head, before he eventually replies, “That doesn’t ruin the fantasy for me.” </p><p>It’s the way he says it that clues Ryan in on his meaning. “You’re not..?”</p><p>The image in Ryan’s mind abruptly shifts into focus. Brain-Ryan flips up top, with Brain-Shane laid out on the bed, making all the delicious noises that are imprinted in his mind after last night's movie marathon. </p><p>Brain-Ryan seems not unhappy with the arrangement. </p><p>Shane goes to speak again, but Ryan holds up a finger to shush him while he processes. He relives his evening’s entertainment with this discovery in mind and re-categorises everything from ‘idk, brains are weird’ to ‘a thing??’. </p><p>He’s willing to admit to himself that he might, actually, be into it. </p><p>“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” He demands, dropping the finger. “Were you just going to hide it from me in your little shame folder forever?”</p><p>“Because it’s not what we do, is it?” Shane says, stating a fact. Ryan notes that he doesn’t disagree with ‘shame folder’. “It’s not your scene, Ryan, and I’m fine with that. I like the dynamic we have. I’m not… not bored, I don’t <em> need </em> this one specific thing from you. I just get off on it sometimes. That’s all.” </p><p>Ryan’s been doing a lot of self-reflection lately, so he can recognise the urge to prove himself that rises in his chest at Shane’s words. It’s a stupid knee-jerk response to something that isn’t even a challenge, and Ryan could ignore it, possibly <em> should</em>. </p><p>Except there’s something about Shane’s expression that stops him. Not quite relieved, but certainly settled. Closing off, Ryan realises, because he assumes Ryan is going to take the easy out here, let Shane go back to his secret porn and self-kink-shame in peace. </p><p>Like <em> hell.  </em></p><p>It must show on his face, because Shane’s mouth twists and he shakes his head. “You can’t stubborn your way through kinky sex just because you don’t want to admit you’re not into it,” he says. </p><p>“What if I said I was into it?”</p><p>“I’d tell you to remove acting from your resume.” Shane turns his attention back to his breakfast and his phone screen.</p><p>Ryan feels dismissed, and it bugs him. Not so much because of Shane's words, but because he gets the feeling Shane is pushing him just so he doesn’t push back. </p><p>Which is a frankly terrible reading of quite how invested in this Ryan apparently is. “I was into it. I’m telling you I could be into doing it for real. I just need to understand what <em> it </em>is for you, first.”</p><p>“Sounds like you did plenty of research last night,” Shane points out, unheated. </p><p>Fair shot. “I guess I just don't understand why you'd want me to hurt you there specifically. Getting hit in the nutsack fucking sucks, Shane." </p><p>"That's the point," Shane says, glancing up with a quirk of his eyebrow. </p><p>Ryan’s hitting his stride now. “Steven once elbowed me in the crotch somehow during a Smash Bros night and I swear I almost vomited.” </p><p>"Hot." Shane takes a bite of toast, still not looking at him. </p><p>"Ha ha. Come on, I'm learning. I’m expanding my horizons. Walk me through the like… the appeal of it," Ryan says, folding his arms. </p><p>Shane seems stricken at the thought of having to divulge any of his thoughts on the subject, so Ryan settles his forearms against the counter and prepares himself to wait him out. Shane chews a bite of toast no fewer than twenty-one times before he breaks. </p><p>"It's a sex thing, a fetish. There's no need to dig deeper than that.” Shane looks up as he insists,  “there's nothing underneath. Except, maybe, the human condition, crossed wires, that stuff." </p><p>"Emotions," Ryan guesses.  </p><p>"What about 'hit me in the cock' is screaming emotions at you, Ryan?" </p><p>Ryan thinks, <em> the fact that you could never say that, </em>but wisely keeps silent. </p><p>"So give me the dictionary version of it," he demands. </p><p>Shane rolls his eyes, but he has that look on his face. The one that says 'I've realised I have to go along with this to make it end faster, and that is the only reason why I am still here.' Ryan's counting it as a win. </p><p>"It's a form of kink that comes under the… the masochism umbrella,” Shane starts. “So it’s like any of those, you get someone you trust to hurt you a little. It’s just a bit more complicated than that, because obviously your dick is kind of sensitive so you’re vulnerable. Some people like the humiliation aspect of stuff like that,” he shrugs, “brains are complicated. Honestly you could have just Googled this and saved me-”</p><p>Shane's still talking, but it's like his voice is coming from underwater. Following his last revelation Ryan's brain is firing on all pistons and he can actually <em> feel </em> when everything slots into place for him. </p><p>"Is this a ‘wanting to be small’ thing?" Ryan asks, interrupting Shane with his own epiphany. </p><p>"What?” Shane goes still. “No, no! How would that work? Being small- I don't want you to actually resize my cock, Ryan, jesus." </p><p>It's a clever trick, a nice bait and switch, but Ryan sees through it now. He narrows his eyes. Shane starts up talking again, giving him the Wikipedia spiel and focusing on some vague point between Ryan's eyes, but Ryan only hears <em> trust </em> and <em> vulnerable </em> and only thinks <em> gotcha.  </em></p><p>*****</p><p>Later, while Shane is in the kitchen listening to NPR while he cooks, Ryan does some more research. </p><p>He starts with the actual Wikipedia entry, because it seems like the safest route in. It’s familiar ground. The grey logo has watched over many a research session of questionable content, and this is nothing in comparison. </p><p>If the globe is judging him for jumping from murder to torture, at least it doesn't show it. Ryan already knows he must be on about five government watch lists, so this is just… a little spice for the poor soul writing up his file. </p><p>Besides, Ryan’s starting to hit his stride now. He thinks he's getting what his role would be - it’s a service thing. This is the caring sort of torture. Torture for Shane's benefit, which is something he can really get behind. Torturing Shane is basically a foundational aspect of their relationship. </p><p>Ryan reads the Wiki entry from start to end, then again, because he’s never encountered a <em> ball crusher </em> before and is having very mixed feelings about discovering they exist. From there he finds a detailed blog post that’s weirdly hot to read, a safety guide that has more of an ice-cold shower effect, and a helpful infographic with diagrams and tips. </p><p>Another discovery: Ryan’s risking actually doing Shane some damage. Of actually physically messing his dick up - which is, Ryan thinks, a pretty good part of him. Easily top 10. He doesn’t want to be responsible for putting it out of commission. </p><p>Hot on the heels of that discovery is another, much more promising one: Shane <em> gets off to the thought of handing Ryan that power.  </em></p><p>The idea of it makes Ryan want to shake out of his skin and jerk off all at the same time. </p><p>“Stir fry’s up,” Shane interrupts, waving a bowl under his nose, and Ryan startles in place. Still, he decides to leave the tab open to make a point and doesn’t try to hide his assessing ogling when Shane sits down on the sofa with his legs spread. </p><p>Eventually Shane rolls his eyes and throws the remote at Ryan’s head. “Find a dumb movie,” he orders, but Ryan can see the pink in his cheeks, so he feels vindicated all the same. </p><p>*****</p><p>Ryan has a plan. The plan is called: ‘If Shane can’t ask, then Shane won't get’. </p><p>It’s based on his realisation that the weird shame Shane is carrying over this has nothing to do with this being too kinky for him, nothing to do with his thoroughly disproven belief Ryan isn't into it, and everything to do with being vulnerable, and open, and all the other scary words he’d accidentally admitted to earlier. </p><p>The plan involves presenting multiple opportunities every day, and waiting. A lot of waiting. </p><p>Ryan leaves his laptop screen open when he’s been researching, he drops a few of the new terms he’s come across into conversation casually over dinners and on the drive into the office, he makes eye contact with Shane the next time he jerks him off and mimes squeezing with his other hand. </p><p>That one makes Shane laugh at him, but it also makes him come so hard he gets the shower curtain, so really Ryan’s still chalking it up to a victory on his part.</p><p>Finally, Shane cracks. </p><p>“So, are you ever going to actually do it?” He asks as they lie together in sticky post-coital bliss. </p><p>Ryan looks over from his phone. “Do what?”</p><p>Shane shoots him a look that says he’s not fooled by the fake ignorance. “You’ve been dropping a lot of hints.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Ryan shrugs. “And now we’re talking about it. It works like that when you say what you want out loud, so the other person can hear it."</p><p>“You’ve made your point.”</p><p>Ryan smirks, and likes another tweet about the new Lakers line-up. </p><p>“So your whole thing- Jesus, you’re being difficult on purpose.” </p><p>“Only one being difficult here is you, big guy,” Ryan says. He sets his phone down somewhere on the bed and twists to face Shane. "I’m easy, just tell your brain to jump the final hurdle.” </p><p>“If I ask…”</p><p>Ryan watches his face. </p><p>Shane pushes his hair back. “Fine. Will you try it, for real?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan says. No point making him wait any longer. And then, just to really reinforce his message, he leans across and kisses the pained look from Shane's face. “That’s in case this works like that Pallovian dogs thing,” he says. </p><p>“Pavlovian,” Shane corrects. “What’s that, demand a kinky night of sex, get a chaste kiss? Not sure that’s a winning strategy.”</p><p><em> Sure, that’s what just happened</em>, Ryan thinks. “We’ll see,” he says diplomatically. </p><p>*****</p><p>They choose a Saturday, and keep their weekend mostly clear. </p><p>Ryan's going out of his mind with anticipation all morning. He pushes Shane against the sink and kisses him after they’ve brushed their teeth, tucks his hands under Shane’s shirt as they wait for the coffee machine, places his feet in Shane’s lap as they work on emails through to mid-afternoon. </p><p>All said, once he finally has Shane naked and laid out before him the possibilities start to feel mildly overwhelming. Ryan’s own arousal is a distinct, distracting buzz at the forefront of his mind, and he could almost be tempted to get off fast and rough now, and try this again later. </p><p>Only almost, though. </p><p>Ryan licks into Shane’s mouth with intent, settling between his spread legs and caging him in with his forearms. If Shane wants to feel surrounded and small - hell, Ryan can try. </p><p>Today he’s the kind of guy who makes it happen. </p><p>Shane’s body rises to meet him, and this time Ryan’s the one to grab a hold of Shane’s hips and push him back down against the sheets. He’s hard already - they both are, but then Ryan’s been losing this particular battle with his boner since he woke up this morning - and the sight of his cock curving up familiar and beautiful hits Ryan like a gut punch when he remembers <em> what he’s about to do to it.  </em></p><p>“Ready for this?” Ryan rubs his thumbs over the soft skin of Shane’s sides, looking up to check in. This feels like the <em> moment</em>. The all or nothing, speak now moment. </p><p>“Lay it on me,” Shane says, his mouth a wet slick of pink. </p><p>Ryan grabs Shane’s cock a touch too roughly in his enthusiasm, sort-of side-swipe punches him, and Shane flinches as his breath leaves him in a startled ‘whoosh’. It’s not a super-bad, you’ve fucked up noise, but it’s also not sexy. Then he laughs. </p><p>“Too much,” Ryan notes, wrinkling one side of his nose and letting go. He’s pretty sure Shane isn’t supposed to be laughing at this stage in the game. </p><p>“You don’t have to put so much sauce on it, man,” Shane says. "You've touched my dick before, you know how this works." He reaches up for Ryan’s face and pulls him down to soothe the wrinkles with a kiss. </p><p>“It’s a lot of real estate to work with,” Ryan replies, sitting back on his hands. “Okay. Take two, big guy.” </p><p>“Rolling,” Shane nods, right on cue. </p><p>This time, Ryan starts with what he knows. He spits into his hand and starts off slow, strokes Shane from root to tip the way he likes when he’s keyed up and he wants it to last. Gradually, the tension leaves Shane’s shoulders and he settles back with a sigh, humming low in the back of his throat when Ryan twists his wrist just right on the downstroke. </p><p>"Okay,” he huffs after a few minutes of those teasingly light touches, “now you're not putting enough sauce--" </p><p>Ryan increases his grip, and Shane trails off into a satisfying groan. "What was that?" Ryan asks, pleased with himself. </p><p>“I knew this would go to your head,” Shane laments, but his cheeks are distinctly pinker than before. </p><p>Ryan squeezes again, because he can, and because Shane tries to bite back on a noise but fails halfway through and the rush of it is something Ryan can’t put into words. </p><p>“You’re letting it,” he points out, looking back up at Shane’s face as he tightens his grip. It seems Shane doesn’t have a rejoinder for that. Ryan can see something in his eyes though, some unspoken thing that makes him want to straighten his spine and pull the edges of his performance tighter around himself. </p><p>Ryan shuffles further down the bed and switches from squeezing to instead pressing in with his nails. Then he moves his focus to Shane’s balls, alternating between gentle touches and sudden bites of pain, cataloguing every time he can get Shane to choke out a noise, or a “fuck- <em> Ryan</em>.” </p><p>Of course he’s played around before, spent a not-insignificant amount of time with Shane’s groin, but never like this. Never where he could indulge the urge to truly get up close and personal, to squeeze just a little too tight, to <em> push </em> in a way Shane hasn’t let him push before. </p><p>“How’s that one feel?” Ryan asks after he squeezes Shane’s balls and thumbs at the head of his cock at the same time, and Shane makes a sound like a whine and digs into the bed with his heels. </p><p>“It hurt,” Shane says. He’s already so flushed - and Ryan had known going in that he liked it, but he hadn’t been quite prepared for exactly how much. </p><p>“Good. I actually learnt about anatomy for this, by the way,” Ryan says, a grin on his face. He taps a fingertip to each part of Shane’s cock as he says the name aloud, ending at the glans with a flourish. </p><p>“Did you not- oh. Not know those before?” Shane asks. Ryan flicks at the underside of his crown in rebuke and Shane cuts himself off with a grunt. His throat clicks as he swallows. </p><p>"I learnt just how much each of them can stand being hurt,” Ryan continues, like he was never interrupted. “Did a lot of reading, actually. You know what I think is interesting?" He encircles Shane in a loose grip and pumps him a few times. "This is the most sensitive, vulnerable part of your body." </p><p>Shane stays silent apart from the few moans he can’t seem to help, watching Ryan with hooded eyes. He's covered already in a thin sheen of sweat, running hot, and Ryan splays his free hand over Shane's abdomen to hold him still, speeding up his hand. He likes this - he likes that he can see the moment the pleasure starts to feel overwhelming, Shane’s body tensing under his hold.</p><p>“I could really mess you up,” he voices one of his own fears, disguised with a smile, “and the only proof you have that I won’t is blind trust.” He lets go.</p><p>Shane’s barely blinking, watching him with something like shock on his face, and he pushes his hips up against nothing as he chases the rough friction of Ryan’s hand. </p><p>“I think you like that,” Ryan continues, now running a nail down the raised vein on the side of Shane’s shaft. He twitches, like he doesn’t know where to move, and when Ryan looks up again he’s screwed his eyes up tight. “Did I get it right?” Ryan prompts after a moment. </p><p>Shane wets his lips. “‘S not wrong,” he says. </p><p>Ryan laughs. He leans up to kiss Shane’s lax mouth, bending his dick away from his body far enough to tug uncomfortably, enough to make sure he can’t get distracted. </p><p>Shane kisses him like he’s desperate for it, like he does when he’s drunk and uncoordinated, a hand in Ryan’s hair and his nose bumping against his cheek. Ryan desperately wants to grind down against him. He settles for pulling his hand down further, and then drinking the pained grunt Shane makes straight from his mouth. </p><p>When Ryan leans back a hair to breathe he releases Shane's cock so it hits his stomach and makes him jump, then smirks and kisses his way from Shane's mouth to his ear. Once there he tugs on the lobe with his teeth and grinds his own cock against Shane's thigh, just for a moment, before he curls a hand around Shane's shaft again, slick and hot and cruelly tight to keep him from pressing up. </p><p>“Gonna let me mess around with your delicate underside, Shane?” Ryan whispers into his ear, low and sweet. </p><p>In his hand, Shane’s dick pulses once, twice, weeping pre over his stomach and Ryan's knuckles. </p><p>“Don’t say a word,” Shane gasps in the beat of silence that follows, head turned back towards the ceiling. </p><p>Ryan’s not sure he could even if he had anything to say. Frankly he’s never encountered such a rewarding feedback system. </p><p>He lifts his hand to his mouth and licks up the mess showily, head tilted to the side while he considers Shane's prone form. </p><p>Shane shifts like he's trying to align them properly and Ryan lifts himself onto his knees to put more space between their bodies. It's just as much a tease for him as it is for Shane, but the rush he gets when Shane groans, frustrated, is as good as any friction. </p><p>"I love that you give it to me so easy," he says. "But I don’t need you to do anything except feel what I want to give <em> you</em>.” </p><p>Shane hides his face against the pillows as he shivers. “Who <em> are </em> you?” he complains, “You can’t just <em> say </em>shit like that, Ryan, I-”</p><p>"You want to try slapping?” Ryan asks. He figures making Shane’s brain implode is something that should be done in one fell-swoop, like ripping off a band-aid, and this is one of the themes that cropped up most across the videos he’d found. He’d done a not-insignificant amount of research in preparation for just this moment. </p><p>It’s worth it. It’s worth it a hundred times over just for the way Shane looks at him, the desperation written across his face clear as day. Still, Ryan waits for him to speak. </p><p>“Yeah,” Shane says, and then, magically, “please, Ry.” </p><p>Ryan's heart does a funny sort of twist in tandem with the throb of his arousal, and he edges further down the bed until he can kiss the very tip of Shane's cock. Then he swirls his tongue around the crown for the punched-out sound it gets him, and for the way Shane's hands flutter in the sheets like he doesn’t quite have the strength to move them.</p><p>"Would you let me tie you down next time?" Ryan asks, looking up from under his eyelashes, suddenly hit with the image of it.</p><p>"God-" </p><p>"I'd like to see all those limbs trembling in ropes, I think." He punctuates each word with a kitten lick. <em> All. Those. Limbs. Trembling.  </em></p><p>Shane presses his eyes shut and breathes purposefully slowly for a long moment. "I've still only got four," he manages, finally. </p><p>"I count five," Ryan teases, tracing a vein with the point of his tongue. Then he adds, contemplatively, "maybe four once I'm done with you." </p><p>He lets the edge of his toothy grin press against Shane's shaft then, just hard enough to hurt, and the sound Shane makes is delicious - wavering and low. </p><p>"Where was I?" Ryan asks, sitting back. </p><p>"Slapping," Shane says. Ryan decides that counts as another request and leans to kiss his stomach. </p><p>He considers the best angle to approach this, flexing his fingers in preparation. Shane's legs are still splayed out at either side of him, and Ryan runs his nails down his stomach to make the muscles there jump and twitch, then walks his fingers down the length of him, flicking at his balls one side after the other for the way it makes Shane bring his knees up sharply.</p><p>When he meets Shane’s gaze, Ryan is struck again with how much he <em> himself </em> likes it. But maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise - he’s always been a thrillseeker - and this... It's like standing on the precipice of something, that same thrill of predictable adrenaline before a roller coaster drop. It's like saying a line and knowing Shane will laugh before he's even got the words out, then revelling in the sound when he does. </p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>It's risk and reward, Ryan thinks, and it's addictive. He brings his hand down. </p><p>The slap itself is nothing special - just a quick snap as his fingers connect with skin. The magic is in Shane’s reaction. He chokes on his gasp and jerks up like a marionette with his strings pulled, his face creased in pain. </p><p>When he falls back, boneless, he looks more blissful than ever, though he’s breathing hard. </p><p>"Yeah?" Ryan checks.</p><p>"Yes, yes-" </p><p>This second time, Ryan aims higher and sends Shane’s cock bouncing back against his wet stomach. A thin string of pre loops between his dick and his skin. </p><p>Shane sobs and pushes his knees apart wider. His hands are fists in the sheets. </p><p>He doesn’t say stop, so Ryan doesn’t. He brings his hand down again, and again, the pads of his fingers tingling with it. Each time Shane does the same thing; he braces, flinches, groans, draws a shaky breath and lets his legs fall open again. Every time. Offering himself up as a target and fixing Ryan with the most devastating look he’s ever seen. It’s a look that says ‘please’ and ‘more’ and ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this for me’ all at once. His eyes are wet. </p><p>Ryan’s never wanted to mark him before, but now those long, pale thighs seem to be taunting him. He wants to dig his nails in, or his teeth, leave a bruise that lingers. </p><p>Instead, he bends to press a kiss to Shane’s knee, then moves out of the way before he strikes his cock again. “Look at you,” he says, hardly recognising his own voice. </p><p>Shane is panting now, looking up at Ryan with his pupils grown huge and dark. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, Ryan’s finally blown that shit wide open enough to get a good look, and he doesn't want to miss a second of it.</p><p>He maintains eye contact as he brings his hand down again, a slightly harder slap that has Shane’s legs jerking at either side of him. The sound he makes goes straight to Ryan’s head, bubbling there like a champagne buzz. </p><p>He could get drunk on this feeling, easily.</p><p>The next one he aims higher up, a stinging slap to the crown that makes Shane shout. The puddle of pre on his stomach has only grown. He’s flushed so red, and with that last hit he starts to tremble, just slightly, but enough to make Ryan’s breath catch in his throat with how badly he wants to see him lose control entirely. </p><p>“God,” Shane says, voice thick. “Ryan. Ryan.” </p><p>“You want to know something else?” </p><p>“Anything, please, I need…”</p><p>He reaches down and rolls Shane’s balls in one hand before he gets a grip on them, starts squeezing, nice and slow and steady. With his other hand Ryan jerks him off, getting faster the more pressure he puts on Shane’s balls. </p><p>When he'd read about this, he'd thought that finding the balance would be difficult, but it's as easy as breathing to look at Shane's face and adjust. Ryan's been doing it for years; course-correcting to make sure he’s not leaving Shane behind. </p><p>Shane can’t seem to lie still. He flings his arms out and curls them in the sheets, grabs at them, wriggling his hips and breathing through gritted teeth. He’s so hard Ryan can feel his pulse jumping under his hand. He can feel his balls trying to draw up impossibly tighter too, and Ryan squeezes, holds him steady, pinning him here, forcing Shane to stay in the moment with him.</p><p>“Shall I tell you why I'm doing it?" Ryan asks. </p><p>Shane nods. </p><p>Ryan leans down until his lips are at Shane’s ear. “Because you actually <em> asked </em>me to,” he says, and carefully eases up the grip on his hand.  </p><p>The sound Shane makes is magical. He grips at Ryan's shoulders, swears, and rolls his hips up to meet Ryan's fist - once, twice, three times, before he's coming all over himself. </p><p>Ryan strokes him through it, keeping it up for longer than he usually would, until Shane's harsh breathing turns to little choked sounds, and then finally an honest-to-God whimper. </p><p>That's what does it for him. That, and the sight below him. </p><p>Shane is… devastating. </p><p>Objectively, he looks like a mess. He’s damp with sweat, his hair is plastered to his forehead and his skin is speckled unevenly pink and red down his front. Come has pooled in his belly button. </p><p>Ryan is unmoored by it.  </p><p>"Ryan," Shane croaks. Just that - <em>"Ryan"</em>  - and it's molten from his mouth. </p><p>Ryan can’t hold out any longer. He reaches down and uses that same hand to grip himself, lubing the way with Shane’s come. It’s a matter of seconds rather than minutes before he's coming too, as hard as he ever has, painting stripes over Shane's abused cock like the final flourish of a signature. </p><p>It’s the kind of orgasm that dislodges something in your chest. Ryan’s not surprised when he raises his head and finds Shane wearing a similar expression - the glow of it lighting him up under the sheen of sweat. </p><p>Ryan wants to say something, to tell him he looks like a vision, but his tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth. Somehow though, with Shane still looking back at him with those dark eyes, Ryan feels like the message gets across anyway. </p><p>He leans down and presses a kiss to the sweep of Shane’s mouth, pulled there like a magnet. His lungs are heaving. Ryan feels like he’s just done a workout, all endorphins and adrenaline and that specific brand of accomplished exhaustion he’s addicted to. “Fuck,” he says, with feeling.</p><p>“I second that,” Shane agrees after a pause. He sounds wrecked, croaky, and it tugs at Ryan’s insides again. <em> I did that, </em> he thinks, a little manically, <em> I made him shout so loud he sounds like that now.  </em></p><p>“Wait here.” Ryan kisses Shane’s cheek, tastes salt, before he rolls out of bed somewhat awkwardly to fetch the cloth he’d set aside in the bathroom earlier for this exact purpose. He also brings back the blanket they keep draped over the chair in the corner of the room because he’d read somewhere in his research that Shane might start to feel cold now. </p><p>Shane tenses up with each swipe of the washcloth as Ryan wipes him clean, bracing against the oversensitivity, and Ryan does a terrible job of hiding the smile on his face. He is extra gentle though, imagining each touch as an apology to Shane’s cock. <em> No hard feelings</em>, he projects at it, <em> we’re still pals, you and I. </em></p><p>“Stop smiling at me like that,” Shane complains. </p><p>Ryan snaps his head up and grins wider, unrepentant, before he drops the cloth to the floor and throws himself to the bed. He rolls over to press up against Shane’s side, head on his chest, arm around his middle. “What, I can’t share a tender moment with your dick now?” he demands. </p><p>Shane rolls his eyes and loops his arm around Ryan’s back, eyes falling closed. “Tender is the word.”</p><p>He’s smiling though, basking in the come-down, and Ryan does his best to keep quiet and let him have this time to catalogue everything. He traces shapes on Shane’s side with one still-pink fingertip. </p><p>“Doing okay big guy?” he asks, when the urge to prod gets too loud to ignore. </p><p>"I can't believe you," Shane says. “A few months of mindful living and now you’re getting off on emotional honesty.”</p><p>Ryan snorts. He can tell by the soft sound of Shane’s voice that it’s not a real complaint. “Funny,” he says, “I could have sworn half of the mess was yours.”</p><p>Shane ignores him. “Sadism, but make it self-help." </p><p>"I feel that drastically underplays my involvement," Ryan sniffs. He looks up at Shane from under his chin when his head is disturbed by shaking, only to see Shane pressing a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter. "What?" </p><p>“Sexy self-help books,” Shane says, like that clarifies anything at all. </p><p>“Like… The life changing magic of not giving- no, of <em> getting fucked?</em>” Ryan suggests, grinning. </p><p>“That’s yours,” Shane agrees, looking down at Ryan with his eyes all crinkled and warm. He looks happy, languid, and his arm is a warm weight around Ryan’s back. If he had the energy to move again, Ryan would want to kiss him for that look alone, the sweetness of it almost too much to bear face-on, though he manages. </p><p>“What’s yours?” Ryan asks. </p><p>Shane’s snickering again before he even manages to finish the question, and Ryan prods him with a toe until he gets ahold of himself enough to announce, “the mortifying ordeal of being blown.” </p><p>Ryan does have to kiss him then, if only to hide the fact that his answering groan is far too fond to be believable. </p><p> </p>
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